To Be a Professional Fangirl
by Error Code 401
Summary: Two girls end up in the X-Men Universe and quickly learn the joys (not) of having to juggle A) not making anyone suspicious, B) not giving anything away, and C) . . . um . . . not dying. But, hey, all in days work for the typical fangirl, yeah? Oh, wait . . . (This may become T-rated later.)
1. Clara Bemoans the Loss of Sanity

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Clara stared at Britany blankly. "What?"

"YOU'RE FINALLY HERE; YOU'RE FINALLY HERE; YOU'RE FINALLY HEEEEEERE!" she shrieked, flinging her arms around Clara.

"Um . . . yeah. Duh."

"Ohmigosh, I have to show you around! Come see my library!"

Clara stared at Britany, her mouth opening and closing in a very confused and shocked manner. "You have a library?" she demanded. "A LIBRARY?!"

Britany made a face. "Yeah, pretty much. Daddy was feeling guilty over the whole move thing, so I basically manipulated him into preserving an entire room dedicated to books. Also, to pay for you to come here."

Clara stared at her friend. To strangers, Britany often appeared to be A) quiet (unless she was in Fangirl Mode at the time), B) ditzy and/or flighty, C) one of the 'cool' kids, or D) all of above. When in reality, she was talkative, nerdy, smart, slightly ruthless when it came to dealing with bullies, and _very_ focused when she wanted something. Apparently Britany had wanted the library and the month-long sleepover with Clara badly. Quite badly, if the way she was pulling Clara along and chatting how much "I've missed you, and didn't you miss me, too; and, oh!, we should bake cookies and look through my magazine of knives that just arrived yesterday, as I frankly have no idea which one to choose" was any indication.

It gave Clara a warm feeling in her heart.

* * *

"Still lots of room," Clara commented, looking around the library.

Britany beamed. "I know, right?"

Clara rolled her eyes. Britany was such a geek . . . and nerd . . . and pretty much the textbook definition of a dork. Probably why they were such good friends - Clara's steadiness and Britany's hyperactive verve balanced each other out.

Changing the subject, she asked, "Any new friends?"

The smile faded ever so slowly.

"Weeeell," Britany said, drawing out the word, "no."

"Britany!"

"Um . . . I haven't met many people yet. But I will! Soon! When I get into drama and debate and speech and stuff."

"What about school?"

"I'm homeschooled, remember?" Britany said, plopping on a beanbag.

"Oh," Clara said sheepishly. "Yeah, forgot. Well, what about church?"

Britany made a face. "We haven't found a church. With people my age, I mean. We're currently going to a place chock-full of A) grandparents, B) parents, or C) wee little babies."

"Britany?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever call babies that again."

Britany just laughed.

* * *

"Clara!" A hand shook Clara's shoulder, and she groaned. Typical. She goes to bed and begins to dream about oranges eating apples, then . . . Britany wakes her up.

"Go away, you nit. I just went to sleep."

"No, seriously. You have to get up now."

Clara opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light.

Then she sat straight up, her eyes wide. "Britany," she said slowly, "where are we?"

"Um . . . not sure exactly."

Pushing herself up, Clara surveyed her surroundings. "We - we're in a mansion."

"Um, yeah. And is it just me, or does this place look familiar? Like, really, _really_ familiar?"

"Actually, it does."

Footsteps came pounding towards them, and Clara's mouth dropped open. "It's official," she squeaked. "This is a bloody weird dream."

"I hear ya, sister."

Why did they say that, you ask? Well, James Marsden was currently standing in front of them with his powdered ruby-quartz glasses. As in the powdered ruby-quartz glasses he wore in X-Men in the role of Cyclops (AKA Scott Summers).

James Marsden asked, "You okay? I heard a crash."

Britany's stared at him.

Then stepped closer and poked him (to the utter confusion of the poor actor).

"OHMIGOSH, I'M STANDING IN FRONT OF JAMES MARSDEN!" she shrieked, going into full fangirl mode.

James paused, clearly taken back. "I - uh, you must have mistaken me for someone else -"

Britany began to dance around. Clara buried her face into her hands.

 _Here we go . . .,_ she mentally bemoaned.

"Lon Hammond Jr.! Corny Collins! Prince Edward! Richard White! Malcolm Kevin Doyle! Diggs! Fred O'Hare! Chad Westerfield! Sc -"

The only reason Britany did not continue chanting every single name of every single role James Marsden had ever played was because Clara slapped a hand over her mouth.

"You are such a geek," she huffed.

Britany shrugged.

"Look, I really have no idea what you're talking about," James said slowly. "Are you new?"

"Huh?" Britany asked blankly.

"A new student. I've never seen you before."

Britany stared at him. "No- _o_?" she said, stretching out the _o_.

James blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry. But -"

"Yeah, we have no clue where we are," Britany said cheerfully.

"Britany," Clara whispered.

"So, like, if you could tell us where we are, it's be much appreciated."

" _Britany_."

"And also, maybe you could show us where some food is? I'm kind of hungry."

"Britany!"

"By the way, what's up with the glasses? Is this some kind of Marvel convention?"

"BRITANY!"

"What?" Britany asked innocently.

Clara glared at her, then turned to 'James' - she was no longer sure that this was a dream or even that he was James Marsden. "Ignore her," Clara told him. "She hasn't had her morning tea yet."

Britany brightened at the mention of tea and was opening her mouth to say something; but Clara continued speaking, cutting her off:

"So what's your name?"

"Scott. Scott Summers."

Britany blinked. " _O_ -kay, this is new."

"It's a dream," Clara muttered under her breath. "Of course, it's weird and new and . . . weird."

"Who are you?" he asked. "And could one of you explain that whole slew of words - preferably her?" He pointed at Clara, and Britany sniffed.

"Like she said," she muttered. "Haven't had my tea yet." She suddenly beamed her mega-watt smile of angelic sweetness (the one Clara knew for a fact was usually reserved for when she asked her father for a raise in allowance). "Say, could you show me to the kitchen?"

James - no, Scott, Clara corrected herself - stared at Britany with an expression that could only be described as bewilderment.

"Again," Clara said through clenched teeth, "ignore her." She flashed Britany a glare that clearly read as _Can we please focus here?_

Britany shot back an equally clear _I am talking to the freaking Scott Summers from X-Men. Don't ruin my joy! Plus, this is a frakin' dream!_

Clara could not help it. She burst out laughing. Even in her dreams, Britany was . . . Britany.

Britany maintained an expression of haughty disdain . . . that lasted all of two seconds.

Scott looked completely lost as he watched the two teenagers try to stop laughing (and, in doing so, only made themselves laugh harder).

Clara felt rather sorry for him.

"I think you need to talk to the Professor."

Britany's jaw dropped.

"The Professor?! I'm going to meet the Professor?! Holy cow, PATRICK STEWART! AS IN THE GUY WHO PLAYED JEAN-LUC PICARD!"

Britany would have continued in her fangirling over Star Trek, had Clara not glared daggers at her.

"Uh . . . I mean . . . yay, let's go meet the Prof.?"

Yeah. Scott was definitely lost.

As they walked down the corridors with Scott attempting to weasel out their life-story and Britany prattling on about the most random things in the universe - "Do you like tea? I like tea a lot. It just has this beautiful quality about it that causes you to relax. Oh, by the way, did you know that there's a fish that can walk on land?" - Clara wondered what happened to the word _sanity_.

"Whatever. My dreams are weird."

"Um, no, this is my dream."

"Actually, it's mine."

"If this was a dream, that'd logically be the thing you would say."

"No, it wouldn't. I'd deny it being a dream."

"And this is still a dream."

"Yeah. _My_ dream."

"If you want to keep thinking that, sweetie . . ."

"Would _one of you_ say something that makes sense!"

"To be truthful," Britany drawled, "we don't understand ourselves."

"You mean I don't understand the dream version of you, and the dream version of you doesn't understand me," Clara said.

"No, I understand you - in real life and dream - I just don't understand what we're saying. Well, sort of; but -"

Scott just shook his head.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, there actually is a fish that walks on land - it's called the climbing perch. Or does it climb trees . . . ? *frowns* Hm. Well, if it climbs trees, then the error is on, of course, Britany. :D**

 **The list of roles I got from Wikipedia. I only knew about Malcolm Kevin Doyle and Scott Summers, so . . . credit to Wikipedia!**

 **And yes, I know this is short! I just couldn't think of any way to make it longer, so . . . yeah.**

 **This is my first multi-chapter thingie. EEE!**

 **So tell me what you think (offer ideas for the next chapter if you want, too). Any pointed out mistakes would be appreciated. All constructive criticism, in fact!**

 **Review, and you'll win a pineapple!**

 **(Also, someone wanna beta?)**


	2. It's Not a Dream

**So I was rereading the first chapter, and I was just like, "This . . . sucks. Like, really, really badly sucks." I was seriously considering deleting it and trying to forget it ever existed. But then someone faved and followed, so I . . . yeah.**

 **Without further ado, I give you the second chapter.**

* * *

Britany was cheerfully chatting with Scott about the different types of animals that could do things that most people considered impossible. Well, technically, she was talking and he was looking at her with the sidelong glance of labeling the subject of said look as an insane person. Which, to be fair, Britany possibly was.

Clara whispered, "Brit, slap me."

Britany gave her a strange look; but nevertheless, slapped Clara on the arm.

Clara shrieked in pain, then yelled, "THAT HURT! YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO FEEL PAIN IN DREAMS, BUT THAT HURT REALLY BAD!"

Britany coughed and offered, "Um . . ."

With that wise speech, she nodded sagely and continued walking.

Clara slapped Britany.

"Hey!"

"See? I'm not sleeping; you aren't sleeping - and Scott Summers is walking next to us!"

Britany opened her mouth . . . and closed it.

"HOW ARE YOU NOT FREAKING OUT?!"

"Well," Britany said slowly, "you are. So when you stop freaking out, I most likely will start."

"AND WE'RE IN OUR PAJAMAS!"

"Uh-huh."

"AND - AND - AND - WE DON'T HAVE ANY TOILETRIES!"

"Is this my cue to hug you, pat your back, and promise you that everything will be alright?"

Clara breathed in deeply.

"Oh," Britany said suddenly.

"What?"

"I just realized that we're about to meet possibly the most powerful telepath to ever exist, and we might have knowledge of the future. Also, Scott Summers has stopped walking and is staring at us and probably considering finding the nearest mental asylum to drop us off. Oh, and let's not forget that we're in an alternate universe and -"

Britany stopped.

"What?" Clara demanded.

"Weeeell, _we're_ in a place that's basically our home, except not. And since we exist in our place, it might be possible that an alternate us exists here? And because we're here, they might be there, like a switched position thing -"

Clara groaned.

"On the plus side, we probably still have parents," Britany said weakly.

"You know, it might make me feel better if you weren't so . . . logical and . . . _you_ right now!"

"Actually, you're usually the logical one."

"Yeah, my logic pretty much went out the window when I found out that -"

Scott cleared his throat. "Um . . . could you continue this conversation . . . in the professor's office?"

"You don't have to be so polite, ya know," Britany sniffed. "If you want to get rid of us, just say so!"

"What - I didn't -"

Britany continued her regaling over the okapi.

* * *

"Hi!" Britany chirped.

Scott cleared his throat. "They just . . . appeared. In their pajamas. And they said some stuff . . . I really don't . . ."

Professor Charles Xavier raised an eyebrow.

"So," Britany sang out, "I can't believe that I'm talking to you. _You_! Okay, it _would_ have been cooler if it was Patrick Stewart - who _doesn't_ love Patrick Stewart? - but you're awesome in your own right, I guess."

"Stuff like that?" Charles said drily.

"YupIguesssoandidyouknowthatyou'rejustamade-upcharacterinamoviefranchisewherewe'refromandsoyourlivesandstrugglesarenothingbutentertainmentfortheaverageAmericanorBritishpersonorCanadianorwhateverbutareallypopularoneeventhoughDoctorWhoissomuchcoolerbutokay," Britany said in one breath.

Clara groaned and massaged her forehead.

Charles blinked.

Scott looked even more confused than before.

Britany just grinned and asked, "So what's goin' on with you?"

"Scott," Charles said slowly, "I believe it might be best if you leave."

Scott did so, and with a glad and joyful heart.

"So -," Charles began.

"Just a sec," Britany said, then screamed at the top of her lungs for a full five seconds. "Okay, I'm good."

"Not fair," Clara grumbled. "I freaked out for longer than that."

Charles said wryly, "So why don't we go through this again?"

"Ya know, it'd just be easier if you did the mind-whammy thing. Provided you don't look at stuff that's completely private and/or that doesn't pertain to you."

"Britany!"

"Wha- _at_?"

Charles cleared his throat. "So are you -"

"Yeah, go ahead."

Clara muttered what sounded like a really bad word under her breath.

"Language," Charles commented.

"Oh, you'll understand why she's in a bad mood soon," Britany drawled.

"Right. So . . . just relax a bit . . ."

"How much is 'a bit'?"

"How much do you think is a bit?"

"I'm pretty sure that the definition of _bit_ varies from person to per -"

"Britany, just shut up and relax your mind," Clara said sweetly.

"Fine."

* * *

" _ **So," Britany drew out. "Exactly how does this work?"**_

" _ **Well, draw up a memory to make it easier -"**_

 _ **\- Jean held in choke-hold by Logan, Rogue screaming, Moira crying, Raven talking with Hank, Erik playing chess with Charles, Pietro saving their lives, Jean dying, Phoenix killing Scott, Jean alive, Scott alive, Kitty walking through walls, Kurt talking in German, Erik kissing Raven, Charles talking to Logan, kids running and laughing, the coin digging into Shaw's brain, Rogue and Bobby kissing, Raven shouting "mutant and proud", Charles yelling at Erik and Erik yelling back, Pietro standing in front of the guard duct-taped to the wall -**_

" _ **Sorry, they're not exactly chronological."**_

" _ **This is . . . unusual. Very unusual."**_

" _ **Eh. Alternate universes. Who knows? Maybe somewhere Clara's and my lives are a book or story or television show."**_

" _ **I - sorry, this is strange -"**_

" _ **Understatement of the year, yeah?" Britany paused. "No offense, but can you get out of my head and continue this whole converse out loud with both me and Clara?"**_

" _ **Of course."**_

* * *

"So do you know how we can get back?" Clara demanded.

"Ah . . . no."

"Brilliant," she muttered.

"Let's look on the plus side," Britany said. "We aren't . . . dead?"

"Wow, see how cheered up I am?"

Charles said quickly, "We will, of course. But until then . . . you can stay here."

"Uh . . . we aren't mutants," Britany said.

"And?"

"Um . . . well . . . won't we sorta . . . stand out? And what about the possibility that -"

Britany turned bright red.

"The possibility?"

"Weeeell . . ."

Clara interceded: "The possibility that there are two Clara's and two Britany's and that we switched places with your Clara and Britany."

"Oh . . . my."

"Which means! Um . . . yeah, not sure what it means; but if it's true, my other me better not be messing up my life."

Clara sighed. "Pretty sure that's the least of our worries."

"Um, no. What if _they're_ mutants, and they don't know it, and they accidentally kill . . . I dunno, my dad? Or what if they somehow die, and we switch back, and then _we_ die?"

Clara smirked. "Or what if . . ."

"DON'T DO THIS TO ME!"

"Yup, she's officially freaking out. Guess the scream was just a preview."

"I TOLD YOU THAT I'D FREAK OUT WHEN YOU STOPPED, AND YOU STOPPED . . . and oh, gosh, we don't have any clothes. Or a toothbrush. Or -"

"It's called shopping."

"It's also called _not having money_!"

"Okay, borrowing."

" _You can't borrow a toothbrush_ ," Britany hissed.

"Um . . . borrowing money?"

"Yeah, like someone's going to lend us over three hundred dollars -"

"Three hundred?!"

"Two of us, clothes, toiletries, et cetera -"

"Not three hundred, though!"

"Okay, maybe two. Or one, if we're careful. Or possibly fifty if we buy all the clothes minus under from thrift and clearance."

Charles coughed.

"Do you want to talk about this with . . . a female?"

Which was how they found themselves chatting with Ororo Monro.

* * *

 **A/N: Comments, corrections, suggestions?**


	3. To Math and Shopping! (No, Just No)

"Let me get this straight," Ororo said slowly. "You're from an alternate universe. And you somehow warped here by accident. While you were in your pajamas."

Clara and Britany nodded vehemently. Well, Clara nodded vehemently. . . . Britany was too busy having an argument with a tall, dark-red-haired girl who had apparently been discussing math and science with Britany . . . with said discussion evolving into a heated debate.

Clara had basically no clue what they were arguing about, it containing enormously science-y and math-y terms that she did not understand and (at this point) did not want to understand.

"No!" Britany exclaimed. "You're going about it all wrong!" She then proceeded to spout a large amount of mathematical jargon that Clara didn't understand (and judging by the look on her face, Ororo did not either) at an extremely fast rate. Only the words _Fermi calculation_ stuck in her mind.

Clara stifled a sigh. Great. Now Britany had a fellow Fermi-nerd to blather with over the finer points of math.

"That is where _you_ are going wrong," the fellow-Fermi-nerd said coolly. "You forget that the Fermi calculation is an imprecise estimate used for indefinite figures."

Clara hated to judge people . . . but the girl in front of her was worse than every single snob of a professor she had met.

Britany rolled her eyes. "The Fermi calculation is used to roughly estimate definite figures, turning them into indefinite figures. Like if I had a crate of apples and I picked one apple up to weigh it in my hand to try to figure out the approximate weight of the apple, then multiply by what I thought to be the approximate amount of apples in the crate. There are the definite figures of the weight of the apple, the amount of apples in the crate, and the weight of all the apples in the crate; but I estimated the definite figure, thus turning it into an indefinite figure. The actual _figure_ is _definite_ , but my _calculation_ is _indefinite_ , so -"

"Oh, please," the girl interrupted. "You are talking about drawn-out, typical estimation."

"Fine! I admit that was a horrible example. Um . . . if I used it to narrow down the most reasonable house for me to buy according to my pay, the amount of money needed for gas or public transport, the commute, and the cost of the . . ." Britany's voice trailed off when she saw the expressions on both Clara and Ororo's faces. "Should I continue this some other time?"

"Yes," Clara said at the exact same time Ororo said "Preferably."

The girl waved lightly and walked away.

Ororo cleared her throat. "Well. That was . . . unusual."

"Why?" Britany asked blankly.

"Ah . . . Miss Areyon has a tendency to -"

"- consider her fellow human beings inferior to her intelligence," Britany finished. "I know. And I suppose it's likely because most are? I mean, I was only talking to her for a few minutes, but she's obviously brilliant. Good at abstract thinking and applying said abstract thinking to real life, even though she's a bit -"

"Britany!" Clara shrieked.

"What? I was just going to say that she's -"

"Not that!"

Britany looked utterly confused. "Then wha -"

"You honey-potted her!"

"I did not!" argued Britany. "A honey-pot situation would be where I was trying to gain her trust or like via the discussion of topics and the display of mannerisms that I mentally concluded she found favorable . . ." Britany's mouth opened, then closed. "Oh. Oops."

Clara groaned.

Britany protested, "I didn't even realize I was doing it, though!"

Ororo cleared her throat once again, signifying that it was probably in their best interests to keep quiet (as the age-old saying _Children are to be seen and not heard_ went. Except . . . you know . . . more lethal consequences if it did not happen).

"So you need to go shopping, yes?"

"Well, due to our complete lack of essential, everyday items - i.e., basic hygienic coverage, clothes, and . . . um . . . other things - yeah, I'd say -"

Ororo and Clara _looked_ at her.

"I mean . . . we would greatly appreciate it if you took us shopping?"

Clara sighed noisily.

And she wondered why Britany usually didn't talk that much around complete strangers. . . . Their being completely baffled and/or insulted by her brusqueness, her use of overly long and overly complicated words and phrases, and her general rudeness that she did not even _try_ to achieve was typically enough to warrant her waiting until they knew her better.

Apparently, the chat with 'Miss Areyon' had shaken it the usual boundaries off. Or maybe it had been the mind thing with the professor (which _still_ gave Clara the creeps). Or maybe the thing with Scott, where Britany had spouted random yak a mile a second.

Oh, who was Clara kidding? It was obviously a combination of all three.

* * *

"According to our budget, we should -"

"But aren't those less expensive?"

"They're also complete rubbish and will fall apart in five weeks. Think long-term."

"So we buy these?"

"I just got done explaining why we should buy these!"

* * *

Ororo was getting annoyed.

* * *

"That should work out."

"That's only, like, fifteen shirts!"

"One: it's twenty. Two: we can share, being around the same size. Three: variety in pairing can cause the shirt to look completely different."

"But - but - but -"

"Look, we're getting jackets and trousers and shorts and -"

"But!"

"My fellow organic lifeforms are impossible."

* * *

Ororo had to control her breathing very carefully.

* * *

"WE AREN'T SHARING JEANS!"

"Of course not. Why would we?"

"You said . . ."

"Shirts are different! Jackets are different! But all the rest is just _wrong_!"

* * *

She was _not_ going to load them with lightning. She _was not_.

* * *

"This works better."

"It's a toothbrush! How does it work better?"

"It has better made bristles, so they won't fray as fast."

"Whatever."

* * *

She really deserved a pay raise.

* * *

"This is cheaper and looks almost exactly alike."

"Is everything a math problem to you?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. No! Yes! No! Ye -"

"Let's stick with maybe."

"Good plan."

* * *

Ororo stifled a sigh of relief upon the announcement of it end. She -

"Ooh! Look!"

"No," Ororo snapped. " _We are leaving_."

Deep breaths. She was _not_ going to lose it.

* * *

Clara glared at Britany while Ororo unlocked the car.

"What?"

"You turned," Clara hissed, "a one-hour trip into a _three-hour marathon of torture_."

Britany wordlessly held up the receipt, which totaled to $63.78.

At that, Clara could not give a reasonably scalding answer without sounding unreasonable, which basically defeated the entire _point_ of the words _reasonably scalding_.

"Is she always like this?" Ororo asked dryly.

"Yes," Clara said flatly.

"No," Britany said at the exact same time in the exact same tone.

At Ororo's expression, Britany chirped, "Let's not argue and sit in the car in silence the entire drive so Miss Monro doesn't lose it and zap us with lightning."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Good idea," she drawled.

It was a very long car ride. Especially since they were still only wearing pajamas.

* * *

"So," Charles said cheerfully, "what did you think of them?"

Ororo opened her mouth . . . then closed it. Cradling her forehead, she said, "I have no idea where to start."

The barest hint of a smile caught the corners of his mouth.

* * *

"Hello," a girl around Clara and Britany's age said. "You're new students, right?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Britany!"

"Clara!"

The girl paused. "Um . . ."

"We are."

"We aren't."

"Seriously, Brit?"

"You're a fine one to talk!"

The girl slowly backed away, her books clutched to her chest.

"I - I - I'm gonna go now," she stammered, then rushed out the door.

A very smug Britany turned to an eye-rolling Clara.

"Told you it'd work."

"Whatever."

* * *

 **A/N: You may have noticed that my chapters are super short. I apologize. . . . I'm working on it, but I couldn't think of a different way to write it and (for that matter) end it.**

 **I'm not exactly that proud of this; my writer's block is giving me so many problems, but I felt like I really needed to update.**

 **Leave a review - it gives me motivation. Trust me, any suggestions, critique, or feedback is appreciated. :)**


	4. Oh, You Better Watch Out

Britany was in a bad mood to start with.

It had taken about ten minutes for the hyperness to wear down.

Almost immediately after that, Clara and Britany had received their class schedules. Upon comparing them, they realized something tragic:

Not. One. Single. Class. Matched.

And now she was sitting in a history class over things she learned two years ago.

Bad enough that she was used to going at her own pace and finishing when it was only 10:00 A.M. - the fact that she didn't have her best friend since . . . forever . . . with her to experience the torture (although Clara was most likely used to it . . .) only worsened the feels

Oh, _merde_ , the feels . . .

(Add the worry that she would never get back home, that she might die, and that some alternate version of herself was running around her home . . . and you got a rather _pleasant_ mix.)

Britany doodled a caricature of Ororo saying ' _No doodling!'_ on the corner of her notebook.

"Hey," the girl next to her whispered. "You're new, right? Are you the one that weirded Tina out?"

"Her name was Tina?" Britany frowned. "I thought it was Millie."

"Oh, _Millie_!" she whisper-exclaimed. "Never mind. I'm Ria, by the way. You?"

"Britany." Then Britany frowned again. "Never mind myself. I think it was both."

Ria stifled a snicker.

 _History, blah blah blah,_ Britany mused, bored. _Native Americans, blah blah blah. Pilgrims, blah blah blah. Big rock, blah blah blah. Mayor dude, blah blah blah. Treaty, blah blah bl -_

"Miss Watson?"

"Uh, yes? Just a sec." Britany's fingers drummed an absent-minded rhythm on her desk. "Um, you asked me who . . . who . . . who signed the peace treaty between the Native Americans - Wampanoags, to be exact - and the Pilgrims."

"And?"

"Chief Massasoit and Governor Bradford."

Crisis averted, Britany returned her attention to her caricature. As an afterthought, she added a fire-breathing dragon hovering above Ororo's head, yelling ' _But doodling be fun!'_ A part of her mind registered the boy behind her (James? Jack? Josh? Jimmy?) peering over her shoulder to look at the doodle.

"Cute," he whispered.

"Thanks," Britany automatically mumbled.

"But not as cute as you."

What.

Oh, crap. Did he just - did he - crap crap crap crap!

Oh, no. Now he was looking at her with that _look_ that boy at camp had given her - stang, was he expecting Britany to return the 'you look cute' pick-up line thing? Did he even mean it? Was he the type who told every girl within a five-foot-radius that she was cute? Why was _he_ looking at _her_ . . . _that way_?!

Britany slammed her head on her desk.

Ororo paused her lecture to stare at Britany for two seconds, then resumed her regaling of the whole Pilgrim-Wampanoag thing.

Britany peeked out of the corner of her eye (shoulder-length hair, how she loved thee!).

Crap again.

He was still looking at her.

Albeit a lot more amused than before, but still.

Clara . . . she needed Clara . . . or at least a gigantic mug of blueberry bliss tea.

Britany drew a caricature of herself - white-eyed and foaming at the mouth.

Thankfully, James/Jack/Josh/Jimmy did not tell her that it was cute.

Well, thankfully for _him_ , she supposed. Britany would have enjoyed an excuse to work off some tension and punch him.

* * *

Clara was relatively cheerful.

The weirdness of it all had faded away once the school day had started, and she had settled into the usual routine.

Well, once you were able to dismiss wings, telekinesis, and fireballs as part of the 'usual routine.'

Sure, she had been disappointed that she and Britany weren't in the same classes . . . but the girl was several grades ahead of her. It wasn't likely to happen, anyway.

Clara still remembered when she had once asked Britany why she was so far ahead. All she had received was a jumbled explanation about how she did school year-round and when she was done with a school book she just moved on to the next grade-level. Then she had gotten distracted by the anime she had been watching and . . . that was that.

Britany hadn't ever offered another attempt at a coherent explanation, and Clara hadn't asked. It was all too . . . confusing.

But yeah. School she could handle. School for the most part made sense.

Britany made no sense. Britany was insane.

Her classmates seemed to be on the same page.

Meaning that they were insane, not that they thought Britany was insane.

Although . . . the latter might be true as well.

* * *

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to - are you okay?"

"Putain! Pute merde merde putain pute pute merde pute putain!"

"Was that . . . Did you just curse in French?"

"AAAAAHHHH!"

Ororo stared as the graphite-and-air dragon flew over Britany's and Josh's head, spewing graphite fires. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which one did it.

"Josh. What did I say about doodling in class?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, grabbing an eraser to whittle it away.

"My hair," Britany whimpered, pulling out crumbs of graphite.

Ororo's eyes clenched.

She could already feel the migraine coming.

* * *

"I don't want to, though," Clara said faintly.

"Too bad," CJ said.

"But . . . I . . . But . . . But . . ."

Mary grabbed Clara's arm. "Come _on_. We have to hurry or else Logan'll get mad!"

"But - explosions - meteor - dinosaurs - EXTINCTION!" wailed Clara.

"What the heck is she talking about?"

"Who knows?"

"Is she making a personification to dinosaurs being wiped out to us?"

"That's a metaphor, idiot."

"Well, how should I know?!"

Clara fainted.

"Oh, great . . ."

"Do we have to take her to the nurse's office now?"

"Does she have DID?"

"PTSD! Get it right!"

"Well, does she?"

"What am I, her guardian?"

"Do you think -"

"SHUT UP!" Mary shrieked.

CJ and Markus scowled, and Talia rolled her eyes.

"Um . . . so . . . one of us has to take her to the nurse's office."

"Can I?"

"I wanna do it!"

"No, me!"

"Don't be ridiculous! I will!"

"Talia will," Mary snapped, "since you idiots only want out of class."

The two siblings groaned in unison.

Only Talia noticed the slight smile that flashed across the supposedly unconscious Clara's face.

 _The little . . ._

Well. As much as she hated to admit it, Talia was vaguely impressed.

* * *

"Danger room?" Britany asked.

"Danger room," confirmed Aryn, her blue eyes glinting.

Aryn Callaghan. Blonde hair, blue eyes, petite and fine-boned. In other words, the stereotype of a preppy schoolgirl.

That is, if you overlook the delight and impatience shining in her eyes upon the mention of the class that typically elicited _screams_.

"Ignore Aryn," the red-haired girl from yesterday, Calliope Areyon, sniffed. "She's just impatient to try out the new plan I suggested."

"Plan?"

"I can heal others; Aryn can read minds; Josh can draw things into existence to a minor extent; you can . . . I'm sorry, what can you do? You never mentioned it."

Britany froze. "Uh . . ."

"Oh." All three gave her understanding nods. "One of _those_ , eh?"

"Um . . ."

"Don't worry; we won't tell," Aryn promised. She elbowed Josh. " _Right_ , Joshy?"

"Don't call me Joshy," he grumbled.

" _Right_ , Joshua?"

"Stop it!"

Calliope sighed. "I'm surrounded by two-year-olds," she muttered under her breath.

Britany grinned. "So, fellow evil mastermind, what _is_ this plan?"

"Rather simple. Aryn reads all of our minds to keep a connections flowing. Defense. I heal when needed, but only if it's absolutely necessary. In between. You and Josh . . ." Calliope smiled a grin not unlike a shark's. "Offensive."

It took Britany a few seconds to process this.

"Oi! Why are we the ones in the front lines?"

"Because tactically, Aryn and I are more valuable. And we're on offense as well, just on a smaller scale than yours."

Britany pouted. "Unfair," she whined.

"Are you _trying_ to annoy me?"

Britany burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"You - anime - manga - pft - TSUKISHIMA KEI!"

"Huh?" Aryn tilted her head. "Did you just compare Poppy to a manga character?"

"Don't call me Poppy," Calliope snapped.

The exchange only served to make Britany laugh harder.

She really _was_ like Tsukishima Kei.

* * *

"You _fainted_ , oh?" drawled the voice Clara had been dreading.

"It isn't funny." Clara folded her arms and glowered at the corner of the room.

Britany snickered.

"It isn't!"

"Sorry, sorry! I just never pegged you as the skipping kind."

"I couldn't help it!" Clara shrieked. "The - the - the -"

"Speaking of danger room, you'll never guess what happened." An almost giddy grin spread across Britany's face.

"Stop smiling your sadistic smile!"

"Sorry!"

Clara groaned.

"In any case," Britany continued, shutting down the grin, "you know that anime show you like? The volleyball thingie that you made me watch?"

"Uh-huh."

"And remember the blonde you were fangirling over?"

"I was _not_ fangirling over him!"

"Oh, right, I forgot that the grey-haired mother was your husband."

"I don't fangirl over _any_ of them!" Clara moaned, burying her face in her hair.

"What about the flirty one - Oinkywama or whatever?"

"Oikawa. And no! Stop!"

"Fine. Well. Anyway, Calliope Areyon is Tsukishima Kei."

Clara blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

"And her friend Aryn is a slightly more homicidal version of the pimply guy who's always giggling."

"YAMAGUCHI HAS FRECKLES, NOT PIMPLES! AND HE DOESN'T GIGGLE!"

"Is that the one you fangirl over?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well. Whatever. Aryn likes manga, too. Oh, look, there's a fly. Hey, a boy said that I was cute today. Did you know that there are apparently three - nooooooo!"

"What?" Clara asked absent-mindedly, not really listening to her quickly distracted friend.

"He erased my drawing!" Britany flopped on the ground, an expression of faux despair on her face.

"Tch. Serves you right," Clara grumbled.

"Can I set you up with him?"

"What?! No!"

"Fine."

"Why are you acting like this?" Clara wailed.

Britany opened her mouth, then closed it. Completely changing the subject, she sang out, "Oh, yeah! I was gonna tell you about the danger room!"

Clara had a feeling she was going to regret this . . .

* * *

" _Yaaah!" Britany screamed at the top of her lungs._

" _Yaaah!" Josh agreed._

 _The huge pile of metal and wood collapsed, and they ducked out of the way -_

 _Suddenly, Santa was standing in front of them._

"Sleigh bells ring, are ya listening?/In the lane, snow is glistening."

" _Wut." (This coming from Josh, who was staring at the fur-trimmed, red-robed man of Christmas.)_

 _Santa burst out into Winter Wonderland and began hurling sugar cookies at them._

" _What the heck is going on?" asked Aryn._

"A beautiful sight, oh, we're happy tonight -/Walking in a winter wonderland!"

 _A cookie slammed into Calliope's face. Calliope's hand rose up to her nose. "That cookie . . . is surprisingly hard."_

 _Logan cleared his throat. "Ah, there appears to be a problem with the . . . technology stuff. You did - you weren't - class dismissed!"_

 _The Santa stayed in place - er, dancing in place? - hurling cookies left and right and singing horribly off-key._

" _Santa sucks at singing," Britany muttered. Grabbing a hunk of metal, she hurled it at said terrible singer._

 _The marshmallow man collapsed onto the ground, his cookies a crumbled mess._

" _So," Josh said._

" _So," Aryn echoed._

" _So . . .," Calliope drawled._

" _So! You did good! Now . . . uh . . ."_

" _How do we get out of here if the 'technology stuff' is problematic?" Aryn demanded._

" _Do we have to stay here?" whined Britany. "I'm hungry."_

" _Tough," Logan snarled._

 _Calliope raised an eyebrow. "My gosh. You really_ are _trying to be annoying."_

" _It's rather fun. You should try it sometime," she chirped._

 _Josh and Aryn blinked rapidly. Logan pretended not to clench his teeth and glower at Britany._

" _You do realize that you're in a confined space with people who can very possibly kill you? And that some of said people have anger management issues?"_

" _Aw, Poppy, way to suck the joy out of it!"_

" _Do. Not. Call. Me. Poppy."_

 _Aryn snickered. Josh tried not to notice how cute Britany looked. Logan imagined the different ways he could kill his current students and get away with it._

 _The end._

* * *

"Wait, what?" Clara stared at Britany. "There was Santa . . . and a homicidal genius . . . and a boy who thinks you look cute?"

"I threw that in for dramatic effect. He could have been going dreamy-eyed on Areyon, not me."

"Santa - how - why - how'd you even get out of there?!" Clara shrieked.

"Hank McCoy." Britany grinned, an almost smug shine in her eyes.

"Whaa?!"

"He turned it off from outside."

"But why Santa?!"

"Um . . . Hank said something about . . . about . . . about . . ."

"Were you even paying attention?"

"Hey, give me a break! I was traumatized! The greasy-bearded man of children's nightmares hurled cookies at me!"

"I'm pretty sure that he's in their dreams, not nightmares."

"He's a creepy stalker who overeats and sneaks into people's houses to leave presents. He shouldn't be a good guy! He's weird! And stupid! And a complete mockery of Ni -"

"You're overthinking this."

"Well, if I don't, who will?" Britany huffed.

"Just . . . stop."

* * *

 **A/N: I have no excuse for not updating sooner. I really don't.**

 **[OKAY, I WAS WRITING ANIME ONE-SHOTS! I CONFESS! I CONFESS!]**

 **In any case, this was written in honor of the coming holiday.** **Santa is a creepy stalker. . . . Children and parents beware.**

 **The anime/manga mentioned above was an act of complete self-indulgence. Also, I wanted to bring out the fangirl side of Clara as well. ;) For those who have not seen** _ **Haikyuu!**_ **, I definitely recommend it.**

 **I realize that most of the people in this story are OCs. But . . . ah . . . Britany and Clara are considerably younger than most of the X-Men. So. :\** **Aryn is not a strong telepath. She can only do people who are in a close range; and she can only hear what they're thinking. So she can't pull thoughts out or dig for memories, nor can she manipulate their minds.** **Talia will have a more prominent role than displayed in this chapter.** **Eventually.**

 **The French curse words that Britany uses are real curse words. I would not recommend using them in front of someone who knows French. In fact, I'm sorta praying that a French-speaking person is not reading this . . . XD**

 **Leave a review, please! ^' '^**


	5. This Is the End

I probably should have posted this a long time ago; but due to laziness and absence from the site, it's being put up now:

I am not going to continue this story. If you want more details, click on my profile; but I don't feel like re-explaining myself.

If anyone wants to adopt this story, let me know via review.

That's it.


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